


Slow Hands

by Hipsterian



Category: Winner (Band)
Genre: M/M, Slight M rated, slow hands highly mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-07
Updated: 2019-10-07
Packaged: 2020-11-26 20:17:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20936147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hipsterian/pseuds/Hipsterian
Summary: It's all about details.





	Slow Hands

It’s all about the details. 

A blanket on top of the bed, a bottle of water on the nightstand, the coffee-maker always filled, the way the wind brushes away the autumn leaves, blowing the sunset that was his hair; the sweet smell lingering on his cloak, the gentleness of his graze whenever it was looking at him. 

Details; small, pointless, irrelevant; the calluses on his fingers, the texture of his veins, the colour that beats beneath the rosy skin. The way his fingertips tap on his plump lips when thinking, how he smiles as if the sun lived inside his pupils: starry eyes like a painting. Details that others ignored but were important to him; the little animals crawling on the street that he avoided stepping onto, feeding his pets with more care than needed, the softness on his voice whenever he called his name. All the bits and pieces that most take for granted; watering the flowers during the bloom, changing the air purifier once a week. All the insignificant elements that are important but no-one pays real attention to; the little traits that make him who he is and he has memorized: how his guitar fits on his embrace like a lover, nails on the strings, ready to play it. 

He remembers all his favourite parts on all his favourite songs, the scenes in that movie that brought tears to his eyes, the lines that make him laugh, lighting the sky. How he feels so lifted up when been praised but keeping it humble. The crease on the corner of his mouth when he is nagging, how his lips look like cherries when pouting. He can name all the little aspects of Seungyoon just as he can tell the days of the week. He loves all the details of Seungyoon - but Jinwoo has a thing over Seungyoon's hands; out of all of Seungyoon’s bits, he loves them the best. They are bony, strong, hardworking and diligent, just as he is. And when he plays the guitar, his fingers brushing the strings... He wishes for these same fingers to rush between the strands of his hair. He wants those hands on him, slowly touching his skin, caressing his dreams, voicing them for Seungyoon to hold his heart with care, to take it away with him, to put it next to his own chest. He longs for these hands to embrace him as if his birthday, the best gift he ever received. 

He is lost in thoughts staring at his hands, his fingers on the guitar strings, one hand holding it, the other riffing, soft music playing like background sounds he can’t grasp yet. He is daydreaming again, chasing after the stars that are all the ways his hands on him makes him feel, all the ways Seungyoon has to make him crave for more, willing to beg, willing to kneel down. Seungyoon’s hands are hypnotic, they can put him under spells and curses and Jinwoo wants to be enchanted by them again - he is already under the magic that is Seungyoon playing the guitar for only him.

  
  


“What are you thinking about, hyung?” it sounds just like a new song about to be released but Jinwoo blinks out of his revery nevertheless, eyes full of the sky that is the view of Seungyoon in front of him, glorious as a morning spring.

“About your slow hands on me”.

  
  


The last note escapes, languidly, the last friction of the guitar’s strings and silence engulfs the room, fingers tracing outlines they know by heart, dancing on flesh that heats up under soft prints.

Seungyoon's hands are as lovely as he is: full of love to give, of love to receive. His hands are just one bit of him and, yet, Jinwoo thinks they are the best way to represent Seungyoon, the embodiment of who he is: strong, young, diligent, passionate, kind; his hands hold all these trails dear, showing them only to Jinwoo's skin while brushing the hem of his lips, asking for something that is already granted - asking for another kiss. 

Jinwoo loves how Seungyoon's hands are slow dancing on his back, travelling up and down his spine, gracing like feathers, like butterfly's wings over his bones. Jinwoo loves the way Seungyoon is holding him, cupping his cheeks with a palm, soft, warm fingers under the shade of his lashes, staring into his soul. He loves the way Seungyoon kisses; gently, sweetly, demandingly when he bites his marshmallow lips, urging him to be fully with him, inside of him, completing him as only he can. And then he beams, fireworks in the night exploding with every thrust of his hips. He loves that, too.

Jinwoo loves Seungyoon's hands and all the ways they have to love him in repayment. The way he snuggles next to him on the floor, naked, flesh tinted in pink. The way he kisses all the freckles covering his skin, his fingers contouring his profile, how his eyes are lit up while looking at him, while pressing his lips against his shoulder, pushing him closer, the taste of his fingers on his back, pulling him inside his embrace. 

It is all about details with Seungyoon. And Jinwoo loves all the details of him - because they are the whole that makes Seungyoon, that create the person he owns, the one pressed between his arms, head resting on the pillow that is his heart. 


End file.
